During all this long delay, which lasted until the late autumn of 1649, Philip continued to write to the nun, deploring his inability to overcome the frailty of the flesh, and fervently invoking her aid in prayer to make him as perfect as he wished to be. Though the world knew it not at the time, it is quite certain from these letters that the ecstatic religious mysticism that had taken possession of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather at a similar age, had at this time firmly captured Philip IV. But he, unlike them, still retained his pleasure-seeking instincts, and with him it was a never-ending battle between the spirit and the flesh which prevented him subsequently from sinking into the monkish seclusion of his ancestors.
Queen Mariana
At length, whilst Philip was in Madrid in September, a messenger, bringing for him a beautiful jewel from his bride, came to announce her landing on Spanish soil at Denia;[31] and the King at once wrote in delight to the nun, to tell her the news and ask her blessing, to which the good woman replied by urging him to begin a new life on his marriage. Mariana had been received at Denia by all the nobles of Valencia, where the Sandoval interest was strong, and jealousy surrounded her from the first hour; the Duke of Najera and Maqueda, who had conducted her from Italy, being dismissed in disgrace as soon as he landed for some lack of respect reported of him.
Mariana troubled her head little about such things. She was a red-cheeked, full-blooded lass, with bright black eyes, and an insatiable ambition to enjoy and make the most of life. Selfish and hard-hearted she proved herself to be later, but now in her florid spring she seemed a gay, happy girl, whose high spirits nothing could damp, even the prospect of matrimonial life with a worn-out, disillusioned voluptuary in chronic anxiety about his soul. As she slowly moved onward through Valencia and Castile, she was entertained everywhere with feastings and shows which delighted her. At one place, after dinner, some of the King's dwarfs and buffoons were introduced to amuse her, at whose antics she screamed with laughter. The stately Countess of Medillin, a Sandoval, her Mistress of the Robes, shocked at such a breach of etiquette, reminded her that sovereigns of Spain never laughed in public. But Mariana snapped her fingers at such stiffness, and avowed that she should laugh as often as she saw anything to laugh at; and when the same great lady informed her that it was a violation of all the Court traditions for her to walk, she obtained a similar answer.
As she approached Madrid, Philip, with his young daughter, Maria Teresa, moved to the Escorial, to be within easy riding distance of the village of Navalcarnero, where the royal wedding was to be celebrated.[32] Every few days, letters, gifts, and loving messages had passed between Philip and his bride since her arrival on Spanish soil, and he evidently desired to act his part of the anxious lover irreproachably. When, therefore, he learnt that the Queen was to arrive at Navalcarnero, on the 6th October, he complied with the traditional usage of the Spanish Court, and set forth on horseback, and in perfectly transparent disguise, to look upon his new wife incognito and without formality for the first time. That he did so to his satisfaction is on record in his subsequent letters to the nun, for Mariana was a buxom lass, and as she sat gaily smiling at the comedy with which she was being entertained before her evening meal, she doubtless looked an attractive bride. The King retired that night to a little neighbouring hamlet called Brunete; and betimes in the morning, with a brave array of courtiers, he rode up to the humble house in which Mariana was temporarily lodged, whilst she stood smiling and blushing beneath her plentiful rouge until he approached, when she made as if to kneel; but he raised her without a word, and led her to the adjoining chapel, where mass was celebrated before them, and the marriage was performed by the Primate of Spain, Cardinal Moscoso Sandoval, with all the state which Navalcarnero could contain.
After their dining in public at noon, there was a long series of bull-fights and comedies to go through before the royal pair and their Court in the great swaying coaches moved on the Escorial, where the early days of the honeymoon were to be passed. A league from the palace they were met by the Infanta Maria Teresa, who at once became the friend and play-fellow of her stepmother, only five years older than herself, and thenceforward her inseparable companion. The stern old monastery palace of Philip II. tried its hardest to look gay for the occasion, with its 11,000 wax lights and its array of fine courtiers; but gaiety sits badly upon it. Here in diversions, especially in hunting, the time passed happily for three weeks before the pair proceeded to the Pardo, nearer Madrid, whilst the capital was busy putting on the festal garb it loved so much, and had missed for so long.
At length all was ready. From the Retiro to the old palace, the entire length of Madrid, a series of beautiful triumphal arches were erected, spanning the road. All the fountains, which were ordinarily unpretending enough, had been turned to account and made to appear classic temples, whence the Olympian gods and goddesses dispensed refreshing nectar to the world. The shabby house-fronts were masked by erections of imitation marble, or hung with splendid tapestries and armorial shields; in fact, Madrid once more, almost ruined though she was, managed somehow to raise money enough to make herself handsome again for a space. Mariana, with her white teeth, rosy painted cheeks, so full and round, and her frank, unabashed gaiety, captured the hearts of the Madrileños at once, as she, rode on her splendidly caparisoned milk-white palfrey, from the Buen Retiro by the Carrera de San Geronimo, across the Puerta del Sol, and up the Calle Mayor to the palace. They did not know yet, as they learned later, that she was greedy and hard, caring nothing for Spain except for what it could give her.[33]
Philip's second marriage
Philip was too much immersed in the delights of his honeymoon to write to the nun for several weeks after his marriage; but when he did write, on the 17th November, he testified to his full satisfaction with his new wife. "I confess to you that I do not know how I can thank our Lord for the favour he has shown me in giving me such a companion; for all the qualities I have seen up to the present in my niece are great, and I am extremely content, and desirous not to be ungrateful to Him who has granted me so singular a boon: showing my gratitude by changing my life and executing His will in all things." The nun in her reply places much stress upon the need of the country for an heir to the crown, and urges the King to be faithful to his wife, if only for that end; "trying to fix your whole attention and goodwill upon the Queen, without turning your eyes to other objects strange and curious." Philip had no great difficulty at the time in following his friend's advice; for he really was smitten with the fresh charms of his fifteen-year-old niece-wife. He was full of good resolves and saintly protestations; he would never go astray again, for he was as anxious for a son as his people were, though he confided to the nun that he was in doubt whether his wife was as yet mature enough to bear children, "although others of her age, which is fifteen years, are so. But it is easy for our Lord to remedy this, and I hope in His mercy that He will do so."[34]
MARIANA DE AUSTRIA: SECOND WIFE OF PHILIP IV. From a portrait by Velazquez at the Prado Museum
MARIANA DE AUSTRIA: SECOND WIFE OF PHILIP IV.
From a portrait by Velazquez at the Prado Museum
In the meanwhile, Mariana, the depository of all these hopes, was diverting herself as best she could, in girlish romps with Maria Teresa, and in the constant shows, comedies, and masques which were offered for her pleasure. Once more the Buen Retiro rang with mirth and blazed with lights. The playhouses of the capital again were allowed to open their doors; and the Madrileños did their best to evade, bit by bit, the sumptuary enactments that had kept them in sober garb and outward gravity of demeanour for seven years of war and trouble. Neither the war nor the trouble was yet over, for the plague came almost to the doors of Madrid, and scourged whole provinces; whilst the war with the French still went on in Catalonia and Flanders, and Portugal continued to defy successfully the arms of Philip. But, withal, the drain upon Castile, bad as it still was, became somewhat less pressing; for Mazarin had his hands full in France with the revolt of the Fronde, which, of course, Spain helped to the extent of her possibilities; and the Catalans were far less enamoured with their French masters than they were at first. Don Juan, the King's son, moreover, who was now in command in Catalonia, was doing well, and winning popularity on all sides, whilst the recognition of Dutch independence by Philip had freed his Indies fleets from their greatest danger.
The novelty of the King's honeymoon soon wore off, and in his letters to the nun he refers to his wife thenceforward kindly and with solicitude, but as it seems somewhat wearily, and usually in connection with her many more or less disappointed hopes of maternity, or to her love for shows and festivities; which it is quite evident from his tone now palled upon him. Pleasure and the joy of living absorbed most of Mariana's attention, and, immersed as the King was in business and devotion, he could have little in common with his young wife. His own habits were absolutely fixed, and an observer at his Court at the time says that it was possible to foretell a year beforehand exactly what the King would do on a given day and hour.[35] His demeanour in public was like that of a statue, and when he received ambassadors or ministers it was noticed that no muscle of his face moved but his lips, and he rarely showing any emotion, even by a smile. Already the haughty disillusionment, represented by Velazquez so finely in the later portraits, had been fixed indelibly upon his features, and his eyes had grown blear with remorseful tears.
In 1651 a daughter was born to Philip and Mariana, and christened with the usual extravagant pomp Margaret Maria,[36] but, though oft expected, the longed-for son came not. Mariana felt her husband growing colder, and guessed his infidelity. Then she fell homesick and disappointed, and Philip became anxious. A splendid series of festivities were arranged at the Buen Retiro to solace and enliven her, an ingenious Florentine being requisitioned to invent novelties to attract her attention. But it was all dust and ashes to Philip now. He speaks in his secret letters always gently of his young wife, sometimes even almost with enthusiasm of her goodness; but it is plain to see that there was little sympathy between them,[37] for his terrible remorse at his moral fragility and evil life, and his grief at the troubles he firmly believed he was bringing upon his people by his own backsliding, show that the struggle between the spirit and the flesh had begun again as severely as ever, and that Mariana was powerless to keep him entirely faithful to her. She, on her side, had soon learnt the lesson of the Court. Her face grew cold and haughty, and her ostentatious German sympathies and repellent Austrian manner cooled the warm-blooded spontaneous Spaniards towards her. Thus, with all stately dignity, decorum, and solemnity in outward seeming, the ill-matched pair lived: passing from Madrid to Aranjuez and the Escorial at stated seasons, wearily going through the dull, depressing tale of prearranged devotions and duties; the Queen seeking such distraction as was possible in comedies and the like, the King spending much time at his desk, reading the never-ending reports of his Councils brought to him by Don Luis de Haro, and scribbling in his big straggling hand on the margins "Como parece," or some similar sentence signifying his acquiescence in the conclusions arrived at by his advisers.
Philip's changed life
And behind this dreary changeless round there was, unknown to all but one lonely cloistered woman, a human soul in mortal pain for transgressions real and imaginary, which it was unable to avoid, and yet was convinced were dragging the man it animated and millions of the people that he loved and pitied to suffering and sorrow. Philip's constant correspondence with the nun had changed him much; for it is evident, whatever may have been his shortcomings, that her exhortations to him to be brave, dutiful, and faithful, and her wise insistence upon unceasing work and prayer, had made the King watchful of his own weakness, and kept him from sinking into indifference. It is highly probable, indeed, that in his constant self-reproach his failings at this time were exaggerated by him, as those of his father had been on his deathbed. Certainly, from this time forward he tried his best, according to his lights and strength, to live worthily, and to rescue his country from the trouble into which the policy of his ancestors and himself had dragged it; though still there was no glimmering of true statesmanship such as was needed in circumstances so difficult. Philip's spirit was a poor one; and his faith, notwithstanding his devotion, was far from robust. He continued to look upon himself and his country as doomed irrevocably by the Almighty to suffer for his personal sins and those of his generation, and the only remedy presented to his mind was to plead fervently for mercy through a saintly soul untouched by the sins of the time. Of the efficiency even of this resource he needed constant reassurance, and for ever foresaw disaster whilst he was frantically praying for triumph.
Lacking in statesmanship as were Philip and all his advisers, it would nevertheless be unjust to attribute to their ineptitude alone the troubles that overwhelmed Spain. It has been pointed out that Philip inherited both his policy and his methods; and so fixed were they upon the tradition of Charles V. and Philip II., that nothing short of a real genius or a sudden great catastrophe could have altered them. But Philip was specially unfortunate in the international circumstances of his time. The deadly rivalry between the house of Austria and the house of France had existed since the earliest years of the sixteenth century; and wars between them had been frequent since that period. But England had always provided a check to prevent such wars being fought to the bitter end. It had been a fixed canon of English foreign policy that the Flemish dominions of the house of Burgundy, that had descended to the Spanish Kings, must never be allowed to fall into the hands of France, and when such a danger threatened, England invariably interfered in favour of Spain; whilst any aggressive action of France against England, either in Scotland or elsewhere, usually brought Spain to the side of the English sovereigns. But the revolutionary war which had overthrown the monarchy of the Stuarts had for years doomed England to impotence in the struggles of Europe; and Richelieu and his successor Mazarin had been able to disregard an influence which had always previously stepped in to prevent the final humiliation of Spain. Without this immunity from England's interference, France would never have been free to foment rebellion in Catalonia and Portugal; and it may be said that Philip to a great extent owed the extremity of his tribulation to the internal disturbance in England.
Philip and England
It will be recollected that after the diplomacy of Olivares had secured the neutrality of England in the war with France, Sir Arthur Hopton remained in Madrid as English ambassador, having little to do but to press the constant complaints of English shipmasters against the authorities of Spanish ports, and other maritime questions. But in the late summer of 1641, Olivares had sent to Hopton, and in a long interview with him had complained that Charles I. had received an ambassador from the Duke of Braganza, the usurping King of Portugal. Hopton says[38] that the Count-Duke spoke modestly and without much bitterness in the matter, and the English envoy at once pointed out that Charles did not presume to judge of the Duke of Braganza's right to the crown, but that as English interests in Portugal were very large, it was needful that he should negotiate with the power wielding effective control in the country. Sir Arthur, moreover, slyly pointed out that words only had passed between his King and the Portuguese envoy, whereas it was with much more than words that the King of Spain had aided Bavaria to keep the Palatinate. Indeed, with the exception of constantly harping on the Palatinate in his discussions with Philip and his ministers, and complaining of the action of the Spanish ambassador in London, Don Alonso de Cardenas, against Charles I., Sir Arthur Hopton confined himself practically to the negotiation of shipping claims,[39] until affairs in England and his lack of money necessitated his return home in 1644.
When at last the axe fell in Whitehall, on the 30th January 1649, upon the neck of the Stuart King, Don Alonso de Cardenas, who was accredited to Charles and not yet to the Parliament, was without definite instructions how to proceed, and for that or some other reason he did not identify himself with the Dutch ambassadors in their protest against the death sentence pronounced upon the King. This may have been an accident; but it is certain that there was little love lost between Charles I. and Philip since the visit of the former to Madrid, and his French marriage. It is true that large numbers of Irish and English troops had been raised for the Spanish service with his consent even during the course of the civil war, but his sympathy with Braganza, and the ostentatiously French leanings of Henrietta Maria, had, as Charles's troubles increased, estranged Philip from him personally. It was, moreover, of the highest importance to Philip that, whoever had command of the English fleet and the Channel, should be friendly with him.
Spain and the Commonwealth
It was a serious thing, nevertheless, for Philip, the soul of legitimacy, to have dealings with rebels and regicides; and when Cardenas conveyed to Secretary Geronimo de la Torre in Madrid the news of the tragedy of Whitehall, Philip and his Councils discussed as usual interminably the best course to be pursued.
"Truly," wrote Cardenas, three days after Charles's execution, "I am as grieved as so dreadful a tragedy as that which has befallen this unhappy Prince demands. The events both in this country and abroad have contributed to it, and especially the turmoils in France.... You will now see that what I wrote to you on the 20th August was a true forecast, and indeed I wrote it from certain knowledge I possessed of the designs of these people; namely, that they would try to do without a King, and if they could not succeed in that they would choose the Duke of Gloucester.... We are here in utter chaos, living without religion, King, or law, subject entirely to the power of the sword, and this faction is bearing itself as the conqueror of the realm, wherefrom many novelties will spring."[40]
The next letter from Cardenas, on the 19th March (N.S.), warned the Spanish Government that the English were in negotiation with the French, and that unless prompt steps were taken the danger to Spain would be great. This intelligence set Philip's Councils considering again; for unpleasant as it would be to make friends with these "heretic" regicides, their threatened alliance with France in the war would have meant certain ruin for Spain. As usual, the Councils deliberated frequently and at length, and, equally as usual, followed their tradition of avoiding as long as possible decisive action of any sort. An agent of the Parliament came to Cardenas in April 1649 to say that the English Government was desirous of continuing in friendly relations with Spain, and desired to know if King Philip would receive an ambassador from them. This was disconcerting; but the embarrassment was increased by a letter which Sir Francis Cottington wrote to Cardenas from the Hague, saying that the Prince of Wales (Charles II.) had instructed him to go to Madrid as his ambassador, and to ask assistance in his attempts to regain the crown of England. The Council was determined, if possible, to prevent Cottington from coming until the attitude of the French towards Charles was known, but they were very doubtful, on the other hand, about receiving a republican envoy, and accrediting the Spanish ambassador to the Parliament, and thus putting Philip in the unenviable position of offending Charles II. and the legitimist elements in Europe.
The result of many weeks of deliberation in Madrid was that which might have been confidently foretold from the first, namely, to cast upon someone else the responsibility of deciding. Philip accordingly wrote to the Archduke Leopold, his Governor of Flanders, asking him, in the first place, to stop Cottington by any pretext until he discovered what his instructions and object were, or to prevent his going to Madrid at all if possible without offending him. Cottington was to be assured secretly of Philip's sympathy with Charles, but to be told that the best way for Charles to regain his father's crown was to bring about peace between Spain and France. The Archduke was instructed to rap Cardenas sharply over the knuckles for saying so much to the agent of the Parliament, and to instruct him to hold the English revolutionary Government at arm's length for the present, "until at least it was solidly established."[41]
In the meanwhile no formal declaration was to be made on behalf of Spain, either to Charles II. or to the Parliament; although, with characteristic duplicity, the former was given the title of Majesty in a letter antedated, so that the Parliament, if they learnt of it, might think that it was written before the Stuarts had been excluded from the succession.[42] And, as if to counterbalance this, Cardenas was unofficially to convey to the Parliament Philip's satisfaction at their friendliness. This non-committal attitude, of which Spanish statesmen were always so fond, soon tired the downright English politicians of the Parliament, and they began to show their teeth. In July Cardenas was informed that he would not be treated as an envoy unless he produced new credentials addressed to the Parliamentary Government, and he begged Philip either to recall him or to send new credentials. Philip and his Councils were very loth to do either, intent, as usual, upon running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. At first it was agreed by Philip's Council that the King should not recognise the English Parliament until it was quite clear whether it or Charles II. was likely to prevail in the end; whilst the Stuart Prince in Holland was to be treated with full ceremony, but nothing else. Other Councillors consulted later thought that, as the Parliament was strong and threatening, the Archduke Leopold in Flanders should be empowered to give Cardenas temporary leave to go to Belgium on the pretext of ill-health; but that if any grave occasion should arise another envoy might be sent temporarily, duly accredited to the Parliament of England; and a small number of Councillors, whilst deploring the necessity, were in favour of new credentials being sent to Cardenas at once. The matter was finally submitted to Philip himself, who decided that the Archduke should act as he thought best.[43] Being in closer touch with the realities and dangers of the situation in Flanders than were Philip and his Councillors, the Archduke promptly sent credentials to Cardenas addressed to the Parliamentary Government of England; and thus it happened that the ultra-Catholic King of Spain was the first sovereign in Europe formally to recognise the Puritan revolution in England, and the Stuarts had to pay thus for the reception of an envoy of the Braganza King of Portugal by Charles I. years before.
The chain of grievances between the Stuarts and Philip was unbroken. The rebuff in Madrid in 1623, the insincere juggling of the Spaniards about the Palatinate, the marriage of Charles I. to a French Princess, and the recognition of the Portuguese pretender led now, in 1649, to the strange and paradoxical position in which Philip, whose Dominican baptism was described in the first pages of this book, and who ever since had been the champion of Catholic orthodoxy, made friends with the stern Ironsides and Puritans of the Long Parliament.[44] It was important also for Cromwell so to deal with the continental Powers as to prevent them from extending to Charles the aid he was so industriously soliciting for the re-establishment of his family on the throne of England; and if France and Spain, from which Cromwell had most to fear, could be conciliated, the main danger from without which threatened the English republic would be avoided.
It was therefore natural that the Parliamentary Government should be desirous of establishing as early as possible full diplomatic relations with Spain. The question was on several occasions pressed upon Cardenas in London; but it went against the grain for so proud a sovereign as Philip to receive an ambassador from a Government whose very existence was a negation of the principle of Spanish sovereignty. He dared not, however, drive England into the arms of France against him, and after the usual protracted deliberation the Spanish Council of State reported upon the letter from Cardenas in these words: "It was a matter of the gravest importance to pass over so serious an excess as that which the English had committed in publicly beheading their King and born ruler; and it would be very worthy of great monarchs to contribute to the punishment of those who were guilty of such an atrocious crime."[45] But, nevertheless, whilst they recognised this, they saw the difficulties in the way of Philip's doing so. Again they took shelter behind the former reception of the Portuguese envoy by Charles I., and decided that as yet no other Power had recognised Charles II. there was no reason why they should take the lead in doing so, especially as Prince Rupert's fleet was still finding welcome in Portuguese ports with his prizes. After much preamble of this sort, Philip's Council made a clean breast of it to each other: the Parliament of England, with its fleet, was too strong for Spain to offend, and, distasteful as it might be, the ambassador from the English Parliament must be allowed to reside in Madrid. Cardenas had recommended that a bargain should be made, and that Cromwell, in return for the reception of his envoy in Spain, should refuse to receive a Portuguese envoy in England; but Philip was afraid of drawing the cord too tight, and gave orders that the Puritan ambassador should be placed upon the same footing as the other ministers from foreign Powers resident in his Court.
A Republican envoy
The man chosen for the post was one Anthony Ascham. He must have been in an advanced stage of consumption; for, when he was first appointed in October 1649, he was doubtful if he could go, and wrote to Lord President Bradshaw, saying that the haemorrhage of the lungs from which he suffered was so bad that he must go to his father's house at Boston to recover before he could set out.[46] However, although still in wretched health, he safely arrived at Cadiz, though not without an attack on the voyage from a French man-of-war, on the 17/27 March 1650. The great Andalucian magnate, Duke of Medina Celi, received him with all honour, and took him across to Port St. Mary to lodge at his palace. Ascham wished to go to St. Lucar, as being a quieter place, and better fitted for an invalid; but, to his surprise and indignation, he learnt from the Duke that he was not to be allowed to leave Port St. Mary until instructions came from Madrid. The Duke, indeed, expressed haughty astonishment that the Parliament should have presumed to send an envoy at all until they learnt King Philip's pleasure in the matter. Philip knew all about his coming months before, Ascham replied; and whatever orders came from Madrid to the Duke, he, Ascham, would only acknowledge a direct reply to the letter of the Parliament to King Philip.
It was clear that, although fear forced the Government in Madrid to receive the envoy, they were determined to snub him as much as possible, and during the time Ascham was detained at Port St. Mary, not unwillingly, for he was still very ill, it was decided that although he might be sent to Madrid with an escort to ensure his safety, when he arrived there he was to be kept waiting on various pretexts as long as possible before even being received by Don Luis de Haro, who was to avoid all negotiations or agreements when he did see him, until he knew the tenour of his instructions and his object in coming to Spain;[47] the intention of Philip and his Councillors evidently being to compromise themselves as little as possible until it was proved which party in England would ultimately triumph. Ascham was kept in Port St. Mary's until almost the middle of May, though treated with ostentatious respect; and at last, with an escort of six Spanish officers, headed by a colonel, slowly moved on through the burning Andalucian summer to Madrid.
He had naturally expected to be taken, as was usual, to some good private house retained by the King for his accommodation; but, much to his surprise, the colonel who was the chief of his escort led him on the day of his arrival, Sunday, 5th June, to a poor inn kept by a widow named Pandes in the Calle del Caballero de Gracia. Ascham, who was accompanied by a secretary named Fischer, an Italian interpreter, and an English servant, remonstrated against being thus exposed to the discomfort and danger of lodging in an open posada without locks or bolts upon the doors. The colonel was very haughty and off-handed about it, doubtless prompted by his superiors, and told the envoy that his duty was ended in bringing him safely to Madrid; but that he would return in the morning. Ascham, in high dudgeon, remained at the inn that night, and early in the morning sent for an Englishman named Marston resident in Madrid, who came at once, accompanied by another Englishman who was with him at the time, one Laurence Chambers.[48] To them Ascham, in alarm, stated the case. Here he was, he said, without even a lock on his door, in a Catholic country swarming with enemies of his Government and his religion; with Sir Francis Cottington posing at the Spanish Court as the representative of Charles Stuart; and yet the colonel, who had just visited him, had told him that he must look after his own safety, for he had done with him.
Murder of Ascham
Ascham had that morning sent his interpreter to see Secretary Geronimo de la Torre, who had expressed surprise at the colonel's action; and had promised to place some of the King's own guard at Ascham's disposal. "But in the meanwhile," said Ascham, "here I am in hourly danger of my life, for I cannot trust these people." His own ignorance of Spanish had prevented his understanding his escort's instructions, and whether the safe-conduct sent to Medina Celi covered his stay in Madrid and his return to the coast. "If not," said poor Ascham, "I am a dead man." Marston and Chambers agreed as to his danger, and at once set out to find him a fitting lodging in a safe house.
Whilst the Englishmen were house-hunting for the unfortunate ambassador in the forenoon of the 6/16 June, another party of their countrymen were drinking in a tavern within a few doors of the posada where Ascham was lodged. For years Catholic Irish and North and West countrymen from England had been incorporated in the Spanish armies; and at the final break up of the royalist forces in England many of Charles's late soldiers enlisted under the same banner. They were a turbulent, swaggering lot, though good soldiers, and were wont to hang about the Catholic Flemish cities and Madrid until new companies were formed in which they could serve. Five or six men of this sort it was who were drinking in the tavern in the Calle del Caballero de Gracia. There was Major Halsey, a man from Lancashire; Captain Prodgers, a Welshman; Captain Williams, his compatriot; Valentine Roche, an Irishman; and one Sparkes, a merchant's book-keeper from Oxford, as well as a Scottish trumpeter named Arnet. The talk turned upon the arrival in Madrid on the previous evening of the Roundhead ambassador, sent by the men who had murdered his Sacred Majesty King Charles. It were a good deed to kill such a crop-eared knave, said one of the swashbucklers; for he had even written a scurvy book defending the regicides. The wine was heady and cheap; and as they talked thus and drank, the project grew in favour, for were they not in Catholic Spain, where to kill a heretic and a rebel, envoy or no envoy, was a godly deed that all men praised?
In the meanwhile Marston and Chambers came back to the posada, which was still without a guard, and informed Ascham that they had found an excellent and secure lodging for him. Mr. Fischer was asked to go with them to see the house and settle the bargain; but dinner being on the table in the room on the first floor occupied by Ascham, the latter asked his countrymen to partake of the meal before going. Marston declined, and earnestly recommended the envoy to forego his dinner and move to the new lodgings instantly, since the guard had not come, and he had reason to feel apprehensive for the envoy's safety. The Italian interpreter, John Baptist Arribas, made light of the danger, and persuaded Ascham to dine first and then to transfer his lodging, whether the King's guard came or not. With this Marston and Chambers, accompanied by the secretary Fischer, went out, leaving Ascham and his interpreter at dinner, attended by the English serving-man.
Presently a tramping upon the stairs was heard, and the Lancashire soldier, Major Edward Halsey, entered the room, followed by Williams, Sparkes, and Arnet; whilst the others remained at the door and the head of the stairs. Halsey advanced as if to salute the envoy, and the latter rose, but seeing the three others following Halsey he drew back towards a side table upon which some loaded pistols were lying. Before he could reach it Halsey seized him by the hair and cried out, "Traitor!" whilst Williams thrust him through the arm with a dagger, and another stabbed him in the temples. The unhappy envoy fell at once, and the murderers hacked him about the head and body as he lay; whilst the Italian, in mortal fear, made as if to fly, crying out in Spanish, "I am not the man!" But as he ran towards the door he was slashed across the stomach by Halsey and another of the ruffians, and was just able to stagger into the bedroom beyond, where he fell dead.
Then the six assassins fled, as they had arranged to do, to the Church of St. Andres, a door or two away in the same street, where before the high altar they claimed sanctuary. In a few minutes all the quarter was in an uproar, from the Red de San Luis at the top of the street to the Convent of St. Hermenegildo at the bottom. Grave alcaldes carrying white wands, and followed by alguacils, surrounded the posada, and on entering the upper room they found Ascham and the Italian interpreter lying dead, and the English serving-man uninjured, but almost beside himself with terror. The case was so scandalous that the alcalde ordered the murderers to be taken from sanctuary, a most unusual thing, which was looked upon askance by those who saw it. But Philip had been determined, since he had enjoyed the support of the nun, to allow no immunity to open assassination in the capital; and with shouts of indignant protest five of the prisoners were led off to gaol.
Spain and Cromwell
Much interrogation there was of Mr. Fischer. Why had they come to Spain? What was their religion? and finally, the poor secretary had his money and papers seized, and was borne off to remain in strict seclusion in the alcalde's house pending the orders of His Majesty. Philip was intensely annoyed at the news of the crime, which rendered his position with Cromwell's Government more difficult than ever. He found himself, to begin with, at issue with the ecclesiastical authorities, who peremptorily demanded the restoration of the prisoners to sanctuary; the murderers, moreover, openly boasted of their deed, and competed with each other in claiming the leading part in it. The feeling in Madrid was, of course, strongly in favour of them; for was it not a virtue to kill an unrepentant heretic and rebel regicide? Every Madrileño who had enjoyed himself at an auto-de-fé knew that it was a saintly act and not murder which these men had done; and they in their prison were the heroes of the hour.
Philip personally could hardly be expected to look upon it otherwise; for in his eyes a King, however bad, was sacrosanct. Yet how could he let the murderers of a political envoy under his safe-conduct go free, and thus arouse the ire of Cromwell, who with his Council now wielded the power of England, and could ruin Spanish commerce as well as ensure the victory of the French in the lingering war. Again political expediency won the day; for Philip refused to surrender the prisoners to the Church or to the Inquisition, and they remained in prison until the affair blew over and circumstances changed; when all but one of them, who had died, were quietly let out and disappeared.
In the meanwhile Fischer assumed the part of agent in Madrid for the Parliament, and was treated by Haro with marked politeness and respect. "Had Fischer any authority to negotiate an alliance?" asked Don Luis. "No," replied Fischer. "The Parliament is not so much perplexed at the murder of their agent as at the tardance thereby of a firm league between the two countries." Haro said that the King was still just as anxious to be friendly as the English were. "Are not the French and the Portuguese the enemies both of the Parliament and of King Philip?" "Yes," replied Fischer; "but the Parliament will be very scrupulous about sending another envoy until they know how Ascham's murderers are to be punished."[49] "Cottington," writes Fischer, "is still here, and lives in good fashion, by his Catholic Majesty's charity; although I am confident he can work little with him,—but he passeth better here than he can elsewhere, so he thinks not of departure. Had the Parliament once capitulated with his Majesty (i.e. Philip) I suppose he would be quickly cashiered."[50]
Fischer was not a man of sufficient standing to bring about an international agreement; and by Cromwell's orders he returned to England in 1651, without having negotiated an alliance. But thenceforward Cromwell and Philip were polite and friendly to each other to an extent that filled English royalists and Catholics with indignant surprise. A high noble, the Marquis de Lede, was sent from Spanish Flanders to congratulate the Lord Protector upon the assumption of his new dignity; and Cardenas had nothing but kind messages to give from his master to the English Puritans. Cromwell, however, wanted something more solid than amiable messages. He knew full well, as indeed Fischer wrote, that fear, not love, made the Spanish King so courteous. Cromwell had, it is true, secured something when he prevented Spain from helping the Stuarts, but he wanted also as conditions of the proposed alliance with Spain that freedom should be given to English ships to trade in the West Indies, that the power of the Inquisition over Englishmen in Spain should be limited, that reciprocal advantages in the matter of duties should be given to English and Spanish trade, and that English merchants should be allowed to buy wool in Spain.
Cromwell seizes Jamaica
The two first demands were flatly and haughtily refused by Cardenas in Philip's name, and Cromwell looked around for a means of coercion, for he was in no humour to take the traditional view of Spain's awesome superiority. He found it in Mazarin's difficulties in France, and his urgent need to end the war quickly at any cost. The aid of England on the sea would make all the difference, and if he obtained it Spain must bow the head and accept the terms he offered them. So he bade higher than Philip for Cromwell's friendship,—Dunkirk, a Spanish Flemish port to be jointly captured, being the bribe; and Blake, who had long been co-operating with Philip to suppress Moorish piracy in the Mediterranean, suddenly sailed with the Parliament fleet, and without a declaration of war fell upon the Spanish silver fleet in the Atlantic, whilst Penn and Venables attacked Mexico and St. Domingo unsuccessfully, and without warning captured from the Spaniards the rich island of Jamaica.
This was in May 1655; and the news fell upon Philip like an avalanche. Panic spread through Seville and Cadiz, and curses loud and deep of the falsity of heretics rang through Liars' Walk and the Calle Mayor. For all these years poor overburdened Spain had kept at bay half the world in arms, but hitherto the diplomacy which had successfully kept England neutral had saved her from being utterly overwhelmed. Now, as hope was dawning that her great antagonist was fainting from the domestic strife which crippled Mazarin, and that terms honourable to Philip's pride and respectful to the integrity of his territory could be attained, the new and strong republican England had cast her glaive into the scale on the side of France; and Spain, already exhausted, plague-ridden, and bankrupt, was face to face with two great enemies instead of one. Well might Philip write to the nun when he heard of the intentions of the English fleets, and the probable outbreak of hostilities: "If this should happen it would be the final ruin of this realm; and no human power would be able to stop it: the Almighty hand of God alone could do it; and so I beseech you most earnestly to supplicate Him to take pity upon us, and not to allow the infidels to destroy realms so pure in the faith and so religious as these are. Blessed be His holy name!"[51]
[1] A pathetic account of his deathbed is given by Novoa. After eighty-eight days of continual fever, the miraculous image of Our Lady of Bois le Duc was brought to his sick chamber. As the image entered the door the Prince chanted the hymn, "Mater, Mater Gratia," and when he reached the words "Mater Misericordia" he faltered and died.
[2] The Cortes of Castile voted 4,000,000 ducats a year for six years in June 1643, and the silver fleet arrived in Seville intact with a large treasure, which was seized by the Government as a forced loan.
[3] The story of the battle of Rocroy is told in minutest detail by Canovas del Castillo in Estudios de Reinado de Felipe IV., vol. ii.
[4] Newsletter, Valladares' Semanario Erudito, vol. xxxiii.
[5] Many isolated letters have been known, and some of them published, at various times; but in 1885 the whole correspondence, so far as it is known, was published by my lamented friend, Don Francisco Silvela.
[6] Oran, a Spanish fortress on the African coast, was closely beleaguered by land and sea by the Moors, at the instance, so it was said, of the new King of Portugal. The Duke of Arcos, Governor of Valencia, managed to run the blockade with two English ships full of provisions, and the place was thus relieved. The superstitious Madrileños of the time attributed the relief to a miraculous painting of the Virgin that had just been discovered in Madrid. A servant girl had begun to sing a hymn of praise and dance before the figure, when she saw the fingers of the painting move. Her cries brought the crowd to see the miracle, and all Madrid was stirred. The painting was taken to the convent of Discalced Carmelites. The next day it was exposed in the church, and the news came of the relief of Oran. Newsletters, Valladares.
[7] Villadares' Newsletter.
[8] The punishments were terrible. In a Newsletter written during this winter it is mentioned that two young gentlemen of birth had been hanged that week as known thieves. "A young girl who was their accomplice did not accompany them, as she was not old enough to be hanged, but they gave her two hundred lashes, and cut off her ears under the scaffold, after which they kept her all day hanging by the hair in sight of the public; so that she died of the punishment within two days." Valladares.
[9] The famous Villanueva, we are told, had to dance attendance upon Secretary Andres de Rozas instead of keeping everybody waiting in his antechamber; and the King's former confessor had to pay his respects in the cell of Friar Santo Tomas, who was now the King's spiritual guide.
[10] A Newsletter of the time gives rather a quaint instance of the feeling against him at Saragossa. Don Antonio de Mendoza, the poet, entered a room where Guzman was playing cards. Guzman impatiently said: "How tiresome that man is to me." Mendoza stood behind his chair to watch the game. "Get away from there," said Guzman, addressing the noble as "Vos," You, instead of "Your Worship." This was repeated, when Mendoza in a rage said: "I am not 'Vos' to you, and don't intend to be," and flung off to complain to the King.
[11] Valladares' Newsletter, 28th July 1643.
[12] The King's good example had as yet done but little to wean the Madrid people from their bad habits. On the 26th December a gentleman was shot dead before the Church of St. Sebastian, and the next day a murderous affray in a playhouse about a seat ended in two deaths.
[13] The advice to which this refers is significant, and was evidently intended to be so by the nun, although the words she uses are very cautious and involved. "I supplicate your Majesty, as your servant, to make yourself thoroughly versed in everything touching you. This admonition is very important, and in order to adopt it with full knowledge of facts, your Majesty should choose, guided by your own sound judgment, someone whom you can depend upon, and listen to him with the fitting dissimulation. God will not deny this boon to your Majesty; and when you have learnt the truth, the execution should be rapid; for the evil is great and the remedy needs resolution. God assist your Majesty and rule your heart." This probably refers to the reform of the social and moral evils in Madrid, as that subject had been broached by the nun in her first interview with Philip.
[14] Valladares' Newsletter.
[15] Ibid.
[16] Only a few weeks before her death, she had gone to the Discalced Convent to visit the Duchess of Mantua with Baltasar Carlos. When she entered the apartment she noticed that the cushions placed under the canopy for her to sit upon were of black velvet. She thought black unlucky, as the King was in danger; and she made an excuse not to sit down. When she had sent her son off to play about the convent, she sat upon the carpet rather than risk the ill-luck of sitting on black cushions. Valladares' Newsletter.
[17] One of her last acts had been to issue a stringent decree—probably suggested to Philip by the nun of Agreda, with regard to the comedies, of which in her happier days she had been so inordinately fond. In future it was ordered that no fictitious plots should be represented, but only scenes from the Scriptures or from history. No actors, male or female, were to dress in gold cloth; and no unmarried woman nor widow was to be allowed to appear on a stage, only married women, whilst gentlemen were not permitted to visit an actress more than twice. New plays were not allowed to be produced more than once a week; and plays in private houses were forbidden; whilst the managers were not to receive in their companies any actors but those known to be decent and well behaved. Valladares' Newsletter, March 1644.
[18] Novoa; Valladares' Newsletters; Florez, Reinas Catolicas, and Martin Hume's Queens of Old Spain.
[19] Life of Sor Maria, quoted by Florez.
[20] Cartas de Sor Maria.
[21] Avisos de Pullicer.
[22] The Prince, who had seen the nun on his way to Saragossa, wrote the following artless letter to her about his betrothal. "Mother, two or three days ago my father gave me a letter from you congratulating me on the marriage that my father has made for me with the Archduchess Mariana. I am the most pleased in the world to have taken this state, especially with my cousin, who was the one I wished for ever since I had use of my reason; and it seems impossible to me that I could have come across any other woman so much to my taste. So I hope His Divine Majesty will let us be very happily married, which is all I can hope for. I ask you to pray for this. Our Lord guard you.—I, THE PRINCE. Saragossa, 20th July 1646."
[23] Her reproaches were curiously framed. Just as after the Queen's death she had tried to reform the extravagance of women's dress by pretending to have seen Isabel's ghost in trouble for her fine garments on earth, so she now appealed to Philip to keep hard at work, by saying that the soul of Baltasar Carlos had told her that he was troubled to see his father surrounded by people who looked after their own interests rather than after those of the nation. Cartas de Sor Maria, 30th January 1647.
[24] One of their proposals was to evacuate Catalonia in exchange for Spanish Flanders.
[25] Writing to the nun on 15th July 1648 from Madrid, in reply to her expressions of sorrow at the vice prevalent, he says: "It pierces my heart, too, to see the vicious state at which the world has arrived. I recognise it as clearly as you do, and as I cannot remedy it so quickly as I should like I am greatly troubled; although I do what I can. God grant that I may succeed in remedying it, and that I may begin by my own amendment; for there is no doubt that I need it more than anyone. Pray for me, Sor Maria, ... for I have need of your help against my own frailty." Cartas de Sor Maria.
[26] Ibid.
[27] How deep this feeling was is seen by the courtier Novoa's words at the time (Memorias). "The only place where the war was carried on with activity was here in Castile, and that in a most unheard-of way, by disarming subjects and divesting them of their property on the pretext of the war. Even the treasury warrants which had been specially exempt from deduction were again seized and forced to yield a half. When those who had to pay were advised not to do so, because whilst the war lasted so long would the Government cut their purses and would soon take everything, a certain person asked: 'Why do they give habits? (of knighthood).—'Because they are cloth,' was the reply. 'Why do they give keys?' (i.e. the office of chamberlain).—'Because they are iron.' 'Why do they give titles?'—'Because they are air.' 'Why do they not give money?'—'Because that is the essence and substance of everything, and they do not wish anyone to have it.' And he added: 'God save us from him who is liberal to vice and stingy to virtue, for the only people now who are comfortable and placed aloft are concubines and the women who look after them, low and common women, and those men who have been base enough to marry them.'" This was pretty plain speaking for a courtier; but, of course, the Memoirs were not made public for many years after.
[28] Egerton MSS., 367, 181.
[29] The "prison of the Court" still stands nearly opposite the Plaza de Santa Cruz, at the end of the Calle de Atocha, and near the entrance to the Plaza Mayor. It was built in 1634 by the same Italian architect who had designed the Buen Retiro, and is a very handsome building. It is now used as the Spanish Foreign Office, which was formerly housed in the basement floor of the royal palace.
[30] A tedious account from day to day of her doings was written by Mascarenhas, Bishop of Leiria, who accompanied her. Viage de la Serenisima Reina, etc., Madrid, 1650.
[31] Some days before arriving at Denia the Queen's flotilla had anchored at Tarragona to water, and amongst other ceremonies the Queen was amused during the necessary delay by the representation of a comedy by Roque de Figueroa on the quarter-deck of her vessel. Pinelo, Anales.
[32] I have remarked in my Queens of Old Spain that the reason why these wretched villages were often chosen for royal weddings was the custom to free them thenceforward from seigniorial tributes.
[33] Soto y Aguilar gives interminable accounts of the festivities to celebrate the entrance of the Queen into Madrid. The entertainments lasted nearly a month. Novoa says that on the 27th November the King himself took part in a "masquerade" on horseback, as in old times, running in a pair with his first minister and favourite, Don Luis de Haro: "all the nobles and gentles in the realm taking part in this show, which in liveries and splendid appointments surpassed all others. It was indeed a day of marvellous brilliancy. A proclamation was issued by sound of drum, by which the King gave leave to men of business and capitalists trading abroad for them to fit out eighty ships and trade with them in his ports and those of his allies, but not with the French Catalans or Portuguese. Politicians talked much of this, thinking it would be of the greatest advantage to the country." The chronicler, however, says that no advantage was taken of the permission, as merchants thought that the ships would be seized for the King. This shows how completely confidence had been lost in the honesty of Philip's Government, even by his friends.
[34] Cartas de Sor Maria.
[35] Aersens van Sommerdyk.
[36] Florez relates that at this sumptuous christening the little Infanta Maria Teresa was god-mother, and in drawing off her glove she dropped a very precious bracelet of brilliants. A lady in the crowd picked it up and offered it to the Infanta, who even thus early had learnt the haughty traditions of her house, to take nothing from the hand of anyone but certain officials, made a sign that the lady was to keep the bracelet, Reinas Catolicas.
[37] He usually speaks of her in the earlier years as "my niece," not as "my wife," or "the Queen," and very frequently mentions her and his daughter together as "the girls."
[38] Record Office MSS., S.P. Spain 42.
[39] See Hopton's summary of his proceedings in Spain. Record Office MSS., S.P. Spain 42.
[40] MSS. Simancas, Estado, 2526; Canovas, del Castillo, Estudios del Reinado de Felipe IV.
[41] Simancas MSS., Estado, 2526; Canovas del Castillo.
[42] Simancas MSS., Estado, 2526; Canovas del Castillo.
[43] Canovas del Castillo.
[44] I have remarked elsewhere (Spanish Influences in English Literature) the strange approximation of the Spanish mystics (such as Sor Maria) with the English Puritans.
[45] MSS. Simancas, Estado, 2526; Canovas del Castillo.
[46] MSS. Record Office. S.P. Spain 42.
[47] Consultas del Consejo de Estado, Simancas.
[48] The present narrative is compiled from (1) the details of Ascham's murder, given to the English Council by Laurence Chambers on his return to England (Record Office MSS., S.P. Spain 43); (2) the letters of Fischer, the secretary, in the same packet; and (3) an unpublished manuscript deposition of the prisoners in Bib. Nat., Madrid, i. 325, transcribed by me.
[49] Fischer's letters and full account of his negotiations are in Record Office MSS., S.P. Spain 43.
[50] Fischer to the Council, 26th November 1650. MSS. Record Office.
[51] Cartas de Sor Maria, 30th June 1655.
MORAL AND SOCIAL DECADENCE IN MADRID—PHILIP'S HABITS—POVERTY IN THE PALACE—VELAZQUEZ—THE MENINAS—BIRTH OF AN HEIR—THE CHRISTENING—THE PEACE OF THE PYRENEES—PHILIP'S JOURNEY TO THE FRONTIER—MARRIAGE OF MARIA TERESA—CAMPAIGNS IN PORTUGAL—DON JUAN—DEATH OF HARO—PHILIP BEWITCHED—DEATH OF PHILIP PROSPER—BIRTH OF CHARLES—FANSHAWE's EMBASSY—LADY FANSHAWE AND SPAIN—ROUT OF CARACENA IN PORTUGAL—PHILIP'S ILLNESS—THE INQUISITION AND WITCHCRAFT—DEATH OF PHILIP
By great good fortune there have survived descriptions and accounts of life in Philip's Court at the time of which we now write (1654-1660), so minute and so photographic in their fidelity, as to provide absolutely trustworthy material for a true comparison of the condition of affairs after five-and-twenty years of a disastrous reign, with that which had existed on the King's accession. A writer of keen observation, insatiable curiosity, ample opportunity, and much literary skill, the noble churchman and poet Jeronimo de Barrionuevo, from 1654 for several years wrote almost every week a chatty letter from Madrid to his friend the Dean of Saragossa and others, setting forth with perfect frankness everything worth recording that passed in Madrid. At the same time, an observant Hollander named Aersens van Sommerdyk visited Spain, and stayed in the capital long enough to write an account of the social and political condition of the Court as it appeared to an intelligent foreigner; whilst shortly afterwards the sparkling narrative of life in Madrid, written by the Frenchman Bonnecasse, came to confirm the impressions of the Spaniard and the Dutchman.[1] If we add to these Philip's own weekly letters to the nun, and the reports of the Venetian ambassadors, which are also in print, we have a mass of contemporary evidence which cannot be contradicted, especially in matters upon which all agree.
Madrid in 1655-1660
It is well that this should be so; for the picture to be presented of life in the capital of the Spains at the end of Philip's reign is so gloomy, that the historian who ventured to produce it without full contemporary warrant would be accused of bias and exaggeration. At the beginning of the reign we saw a fairly numerous class of nobles, churchmen, and officials, still rich with royal grants and government plunder; whilst the mass of the people were sunk in poverty. At the time of which we are now writing the nobles themselves had been bled to a state of bankruptcy. They and the Church were supposed to be exempt from taxation; but the demands made upon them, and especially upon the nobles, for funds for the war had ended by reducing most of them to the same poverty-stricken condition as their inferiors in rank. The financial and mercantile classes had lost all confidence; for the arbitrary seizure of their property again and again by the Government, and the crushing taxation on exports, even to Spanish colonies, had driven them to universal evasion and contraband, to the further depletion of Philip's resources.[2] Haro, who had a revenue of 130,000 ducats a year, and a few of his kinsmen, were still very rich, and continued to plunder all they could, though there was, indeed, little left to plunder; and in addition to these, the only people who had much ready money to spend were the colonial officials who had returned home with the booty of their offices.
The idleness and pretension of all classes in the capital had increased now to such an extent, that practically the whole of the necessary work had to be done by foreigners; there being as many as 40,000 French subjects in Madrid dressing as Spaniards, and calling themselves Burgundians or Walloons, to escape the special tax on foreigners.[3] By these people most crafts and callings were conducted, the Spanish working classes being occupied mainly in casual service, petty traffic, and mendicancy; whilst highway robbery and murder, even in Madrid, was so frequent as to cause no remark. The streets were more filthy and dilapidated than ever, and still the crowd of idlers on foot and in vast number of coaches, drawn by mules now, for the horses had been seized, thronged the promenades,—the Calle Mayor in the winter, the Prado and river bank in the summer; the humbler classes elbowing their social superiors with perfect effrontery, wearing swords and daggers, claiming equal respect, and, indeed, swaggering more than the nobles.
The two playhouses, which had been reopened on the King's second marriage, were crammed every day with artizans dressed in imitation or cast-off finery, and calling themselves caballeros, who had to pay from 10 to 15 sous in all for a seat;[4] and, whilst the fields were mostly tilled, if at all, and the urban labour was performed, by foreigners, the very cloth upon Spanish backs being made in Holland and England from Spanish wool, the native working classes still vociferously kept up the silly tradition of their own gentility, and of national potency and the overwhelming wealth of the King. The alternate appreciation and debasement of the coinage had enormously raised the price of commodities, and especially of house rent in Madrid; the houses being still low, shabby, and incommodious, for the most part, owing to the claim of the King to the first floor of every house or its equivalent in money.
But what struck foreigners, and indeed observant Spaniards, at this period, was the appalling profligacy still prevalent in Madrid. Public women almost monopolised the promenades; their shameless impudence in broad daylight having the effect of lowering the standard of behaviour, even of decent women, who thought it no insult, but rather the contrary, to be addressed in amorous terms by strange men in the street.[5] The women, for the most part, still went about, notwithstanding the prohibition, with shawls covering their faces except one eye, and this facilitated intrigue in all classes to a shocking extent. The Government were in despair about the utter disregard by women of the dress regulations; for the wide farthingales, stiff, extravagant wigs, and fine stuffs were worn in spite of all pragmatics, since the Queen and her ladies set the fashion; and the only persons punished were the unfortunate shopkeepers who supplied the offending things.